One Every Minute
by Kevin3
Summary: Harry's fourth year was going to suck. Oh, if only he could find some way of turning on his surely-existent powers of super-wizardry. He had those, right? It must be fate that Harry happens to run into the perfect wandering saleswizard. Humor/Parody.


**One Every Minute**

Harry wasn't sure whether it was impulse or fate, but on his quick trip through Diagon Alley, he found himself waiting outside Ollivanders. After all, getting a backup wand would probably be a good idea - especially considering all the strange events and adventures that seemed to center around him.

Unfortunately, Ollivander's was a bit packed - apparently this was the weekend that all the first years were trying to buy their wands, it seemed. So instead of cramming himself into to the store, Harry decided to wait in Diagon Alley for things to clear out a little bit.

'Ping'

A rather strange sound echoed from across the alley; it sounded like a tine of pure metal was being struck and then silenced a half-second later. Harry frowned, looking over to see what created it - and saw an adult wizard fiddling with a strange looking artifact, a curious looking octahedron with glowing blue runes inscribed on its surface.

The adult waved their wand and said something inaudibly.

'Ping'

A number rose in the air from the device: '74'

The adult waved their wand again.

'Ping'

Again, a '74' floated in the air.

Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering what the heck the man was doing.

Yet another spell; yet another ping; yet another 74.

"Excuse me, may I ask what you're doing?"

"Oh, sorry," the older wizard said as if startled. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"What's that device?"

"It's a potenciameter."

"Potenciameter?"

"If you cast a mundane spell at it - a cheering charm for example - it will quantitatively measure the strength of your magical core."

"So it's saying your core is 74?"

"Out of 100," the wizard said, nodding. "It's a really useful device - I'm surprised Ollivanders isn't using one yet to help figure out which students should get which wands."

Harry was intrigued... and if he was honest with himself, he was curious what he'd get if he tried it out. After all, people always said he was a powerful wizard - especially since he was able to make a Patronus last year.

"Why do you keep using it over and over again?" Harry asked. "Why would your number change from one spell to the next?"

"It probably shouldn't," the man shrugged. "I was just testing to see if casting while angry, or while sad, or while happy changed things. But it looks pretty foolproof - it measures your core, not how strong any given spell is."

Several tortured seconds went by; Harry wasn't sure how to ask the obvious question.

The man seemed to notice Harry's expression. "Do you want to try it?" he asked in an amused voice.

"If you don't mind," Harry said happily.

As he stared at the device, Harry was frantically trying to decide how much power to put into his spell. Try to overcharge it as much as he could? With his luck, he'd break what was some sort of mythical artifact. Shoot too little? Then it might come back saying something embarrassing like '29' or something. He could imagine the Prophet headlines the next day: "Boy-Who-Lived Nearly A Squib, By Rita Skeeter".

"Hilarulum," he incanted; a bluish beam hit the device, overcharged just a tiny bit.

Instead of numbers, however, a strange quartet of symbols floated up from the machine.

Harry nearly swore. Just his luck: he broke it.

Nervously, Harry looked over at the device's owner. However, the elder wizard certainly didn't appear angry. Instead, the man was looking back and forth between Harry and the Octahedron with worry, shock, and... fear?

"What happened?" Harry softly asked.

"Those four symbols. They're Sanskrit. The first two loosely translate to 'Grand Master'... and the second two, the smaller two beneath it? They mean 'obstructed', 'caged', or 'blocked'"

Harry was confused. "... what?"

"My boy," the wizard said in a fearful wizard. "Someone or something has placed a block on your powers. Your true abilities... they would dwarf anything you've ever done before. Your true potential may even be beyond that of any living mage today - 'Master' readings are exceptionally rare, and a 'Grand Master' reading is completely unheard of."

The wizard swallowed. "Someone - or something - has placed a block on your powers, has cut you off from obtaining the true measure of your abilities."

Harry's mind swirled with possibilities. His powers were blocked? Someone had tampered with his magic? Who could have done this?!

Draco was too young. It'd be impossible for a boy his age to do that, right? Maybe his father? Had Lucius cast a spell like that when he was a first year - maybe the man was hidden at Madam Malkins? Maybe it was Voldemort? Or perhaps the scar was acting as the block, severing him from his complete powers? Hell, for all he knew, _Dumbledore_ had cut him off from his full strength for the Greater Good.

How many things in the last 4 years would've gone differently if Harry had his complete magic behind his will? How much harder would the upcoming fight with Voldemort be if he couldn't get it back?

Trying to remain calm, Harry whispered, "How do I... how do I 'unblock' it?"

The man pondered this a bit. "You would have two problems. The first would be loosening the block. The second would be readying your body for the increased flow of magic within you. It... may be possible to use this device to handle both."

"How?" Harry tried desperately not to get his hopes up.

"Physical contact with it creates a stream of magic. If you touch it with both hands, with each on opposite vertices, it creates a sort of circuit - with magic travelling down one arm and back up the other. It's not harmful - I sometimes do it at the end of a day as a way of relaxing my core."

"But..." the man said slowly, "if you _slept_ like that? Letting your magic swirl around actively through the night, it would slowly erode the block each night. While it might take up to a year for the full block to be removed, it'd probably only take a week or two to start noticing substantial increases to your power and magical endurance."

"That's... that's great," Harry said, his voice wavering with pure optimism. "But how do I get it back to you?"

"Get what back to me?"

"The... your device? I mean, if I borrow it, how will I..."

"What? No! You can't borrow this!"

"But..."

"It's not even mine, it's my brother's!"

"Okay," Harry asked slowly, trying not to worry. "Where can I get another one then?"

"My brother bought this in... it was some arabian country. Someplace that used to be Persia."

Harry was beginning to panic a bit. That wasn't a lot of information to go off of - Harry wasn't relishing the odds of trying to find a second artifact before the inevitable clash between him and Voldemort.

Didn't this man realize what was at stake? What would happen to their realm if Harry couldn't regain his powers in time to confront Riddle? It was quite possible that the entire world was on the line, and this foolish man was putting it all at risk because he didn't want to loan out one measly contraption?

"Listen," Harry said slowly - and unfortunately, a bit of condescension crept into his voice. "I don't kn..."

"Hey," the elder wizard said sharply, "don't take that tone with me. I don't care if you're the Boy-Who-Lived, I can't just give away a rare artifact that my brother had to spend 100 galleons to procure!"

Harry almost laughed. Honestly? The man was worried about that small amount of money?

"How about," Harry slowly said, "I give you 200 galleons for it? That's _twice_ what your brother paid for it."

"I... if it was mine I would, but..."

"300 galleons."

The man wavered; Harry refrained from grinning like a wolf, knowing the man was about to cave.

"350 galleons. Final offer."

The elder wizard muttered something about his brother killing him... but handed over the runic artifact.

Harry laughed. "You have no idea how much you've helped the world out today," he said in a grateful voice, handing over a sack of gold coins.

Finally! Finally Harry could begin to turn the tables on the Death Eaters and their horrid leader!

The next 30 minutes passed in a blur, with happy visions of being able to stand toe-to-toe with Death Eaters, fighting two at once, or even four at once - wading through those murdering scum before challenging their soulless master to a final, climactic battle.

The spells! The spells flying through the air, in an epic arcane battle that would end with Harry, finally, ending the threat of Voldemort... and with him finally being able to settle down to live a peaceful life.

30 minutes later, Harry was ready to depart Diagon Alley using the floo... when he realized he should ask the older wizard if he had any final advice about the artifact. After all, Harry knew next to nothing about it. What happened if it broke? Or if muggle technology interfered with it? Were there any special instructions for how to care for it or maintain it?

Harry began winding his way back to Ollivanders; sure enough, the man was still across the street - although the man's back was turned to Harry, the beige and black robes were distinctive enough to pick out.

Strangely, the man was squatting down on one knee. As Harry approached, he could see the man was talking to what looked like a younger version of Colin Creevey. Did the 3rd year have a younger brother joining the school? Even odder, there was a floating sphere with gleaming green lines etched onto its surface.

As he drew closer, Harry gasped when he heard what the man was saying.

"... I don't believe it. Those runes... they're Sanskrit. The first two say 'Grand-Master', and the second pair symbolize a power obstruction of some sort. Dennis Creavey... you're no ordinary wizard. You've got an enormous reserve of magical energy - a power that would dwarf any alive, but it's obstructed somehow. However, there may be a way to unblock it..."

* * *

_**Wizards: There's one born every minute.**_


End file.
